September 5, 2008

Swept up in a tide of events. The two sexy Christians spent two days putting an attractive deck and improved steps on the front of the cottage. Righteous boys are such a turn-on. I bought a brand new white Prius, for delivery of which I have been waiting since May. This meant that yesterday was the day I spent more money outright than on any other day in my life. TD, who had wanted to buy the Corolla, decided not to even as I was out of communication at the dealership, and so I had no trade-in, as might have softened the blow. But all is well. The Prius and I are getting to know one another. It gleams like snow. Dufay was the first I played on its CD player. I wake this morning with a bloom of cellulitis on both legs, the worst in fifteen years, and, uncharacteristically, painful. Even my earring hole is ouchy. But I have learned to recognize visible red as the end of a cycle rather than the beginning of it. This morning I and whoever shows up to help will set up my show in the Pump Gallery. Tonight is opening night for Dr. Faustus, and whatever ails me must be sublimed into theatrical energy. Tomorrow Night opens, I hope amid at least a handful of observers. At times, while I was painting, I thought "surely this entire show will sell out." Right now I’d be satisfied if nobody runs out the door laughing. In class yesterday two of my students insisted that their teacher at Asheville High taught them to say "between you and I" because it was more "formal", and then bristled at my disrespect when I observed their teacher was merely wrong. The stock market is in the bog. I won’t even look again until I see a flash of green when I glance at the NYSE site on the internet.

After that one note of exaltation, Michael Minor’s body is again full of lymphoma. I sort of assumed this would happen, but you don’t want to tell God to his face that he’s a trickster and a liar. Unless you do.